


better chase this ghost before it leaves me

by prettybrilliantfunny



Category: Alex Stern - Leigh Bardugo, Ninth House - Fandom, Ninth House - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 07:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybrilliantfunny/pseuds/prettybrilliantfunny
Summary: The sound of her name--him saying her name--was this really the first time?--landed like a sucker punch, driving the wind from her chest.“This would be a really fucking stupid idea.”“‘This’ being what exactly?”





	better chase this ghost before it leaves me

_ You’ve deepened the bond between us. _

That’s what North had said. After she’d pulled him forcibly into her in Tara Hutchen’s apartment. When his reflection appeared in her bathwater, pale and soft-lined through the magic’s haze. And in the bathroom sink. Each time passing easily and without effort through the wards that had kept all other Grays (and worse) at bay.

She should have anticipated how quickly things would escalate, but at the time--murdered women, insect-spewing  _ gluma _ , and a soul-snacking Wheelwalker abounding-- _ North  _ was the least of her problems.

Their “ill-advised connection,” as Dawes so tactfully put it, was making a mess of numerous impossibilities. Like when North materialized for the first time within the walls of Il Bastone--free-standing and nary a drop of water in sight. Alex had fallen asleep in one of the stiff wingbacks positioned in front of the sitting room fire, the heat pulling her from Darlington’s journals; her relentless pursuit of anything that might help her call him back from the Veil had pushed her so far into the late hours that she had begun to doze, and then to dream.

There’s been no sound of course, but even half-asleep, Alex was attuned to the Grays; she felt him appear like a balloon had been popped. Alex lurched upright in her chair, one of the books falling to the floor and creasing its pages. North had looked unexpectedly contrite, as if sorry to have startled her. She remembered him crouching beside her, his dark eyes on her face.

“Go back to sleep, Stern,” North had murmured--his Kennedy-esque elocution softened by her own exhaustion, the low orange of the fire gentling his technicolor image. She should have banished him; said the death words and pushed him back beyond the wards. But her eyelids were already slipping shut, the cheap cashmere of her new sweater already heat-soaked and too inviting to fight against the lure of sleep. North didn’t frighten her. 

Of course, Dawes had looked into how-the-fuck one might disconnect themselves from a Gray, but, as she was fond of saying, the easiest way was to not have gotten herself linked to North in the first place. When the answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming -- Dawes had been irritated to no end--but Alex supposed it was because no other Lethian had been as stupid as a girl from Van Nuys, and told Dawes to drop it for now. There were more urgent things on their To Do list.

And so, like anything in her predominately-shitty life, Alex got used to it. North was helpful--in more ways than one, though especially in his ability to plot their way through the borderlands and beyond. And he made Alex feel a little less alone.

One night, after dinner--another culinary masterpiece by Dawes, who seemed determined to fatten Alex up before any assault on Hell--Alex had retreated to her bedroom, arms laden with books from the library and North trailing behind her, silent as a cat. It was a bit tedious that he couldn’t turn the pages himself, Alex had gotten into the habit of reading promising bits out loud. Sometimes North would chime in, and sometimes he would phase out, gone to follow a lead on his usual side of the Veil. 

He was a rather good sounding board, all things considered. While he had not been a Wheelwalker or magically inclined before his untimely death, he’d picked up more than his fair share of knowledge in his century as the Bridegroom. Lurking. And he was quite easy to rile up. A little like Darlington that way. And as much as that thought pricked at the guilt and melancholy she felt in her Virgil’s absence, it was mostly a comfort. 

Propped up in her bed, the comforter a rumpled blue sea around her, she forced herself to read another page. This particular Virgil, some pompous asshole from the 70s, had been researching the possibility of multiple borderlands (something she had easily confirmed by, you know,  _ going  _ there), and as tedious as it was to slog through his ruminations, she wanted a sizeable list for North to scout out on his side. He’d been quietly keeping her company for the better part of an hour, but just before ten he began to pace. His tread was silent, but she could see him out of the corner of her eye--back and forth, back and forth next to the bed.

And then, just as she was about to ask him what his fucking problem was, he reached out--and a very real, very solid hand closed around the bared, jut of her ankle. 

She sat upright, her heart leaping into her throat as she fought her instinctive panic, fought back the memories of the  _ gluma  _ and his vice-grip around her throat. North’s hand lost contact with her skin when she did, and when he reached out to steady her--(how  _ gentlemanly _ )--his hand passed through with its usual icy intangibility. 

“How?!” she demanded. The easy calm she’d fallen into had shattered around her; the fire in the grate was both too dim and too warm.

North shrugged one shoulder; dismissive. ( _ Aggravating _ ). “For the same reason I can pass the wards, I imagine.”

“Our connection,” Alex ground out the words.  _ Goddamnit. _ She never should have started this thing between them, never should have waved at him from the upper window of the Hutch, her throat still raw from corpse beetles. Even if he had kept Lance from killing her (maybe), and tried to stand with her against Sandow, and then Belbalm… _ Fuckingdamnit _ . 

That part might have been out loud, judging by sour look North shot her. A familiar look, these days. He was peevish and proper, and just the faintest shade of Darlington that sometimes it was easy to forget that North wasn’t really there, wasn’t of the world, let alone the 21st century. 

“It’s you.”

Alex’s attention snapped back. “ _ What? _ ”

North raised a finely arched eyebrow. She rarely ever saw him amused (save for when he caught her dreadful attempts to speak Latin), but there was no mistaking his expression now. “It’s your feelings that draw me here.”

Nothing was entirely infallible--not gravechalk circles, not wards. Grays were drawn by strong emotions. Grief, determination, and…a memory resurfaced in Alex’s mind--of that disastrous Manuscript party: masked faces over bodies writhing and slick with sweat; the smell of sex mingling with the sickly sweet of too-expensive wine; and the Grays, their haunted faces suffused with rapture, amidst the living’s abandon and desire.

Alex’s face burned. “They do not.”

North’s eyes narrowed. “How else am I here?”   


“Fuck you.”

“That would seem to be your intent….”

“Sounds more up your alley, North. Skulking about.  _ Pining-- _ ”

“Trust me.” His eyes met hers, and the heat in them was unmistakable. “If it worked the other way... _ you’d never leave the river. _ ”

And North’s fingertips grazed the edge of her foot.

The thought flashed through her--an image of limbs and forked lightning, gasp and water, the crocodiles golden eyes encircling them--but whether it was her own or North’s, Alex was shockingly uncertain.

Alex felt her face flush even as her stomach dropped out. In front of her, North’s edges seemed to sharpen, and when he laid his hand over her skin again, it did not slip below the edges. His thumb pressed into the hollow of her ankle bone, warm and solid; and when his fingers curled around her foot Alex couldn’t suppress the shiver it caused.

“Darlington’s going to be pissed,” she whispered.

North’s smooth mouth turned downward, looking rather put out; Alex thought, a bit hysterically, it was probably poor manners to mention another man when one had hold of your naked ankle.

“What a swooning Victorian you are,” she laughed; a taunt that came out breathier than she’d intended. His hand was still on her ankle, himself--half leaning across the bed. It should have been awkward, comical even. It wasn’t.

It was most  _ definitely _ not funny.

“North.” 

His long-fingers tapped once--twice--against her skin. His pause was measured. “ _ Alex. _ ”

The sound of her name-- _ him _ saying her name--was this really the first time?--landed like a sucker punch, driving the wind from her chest.

“This would be a really fucking stupid idea.”

“‘This’ being what exactly?”

She didn’t answer.

“I suppose you’re right, however. Several of your choices do fall along that scale.”

“Rude.”

Yet, the more she thought about it, the more solid he became. More tangible. More  _ touchable _ .

“Why are you here, North?”

“Because it’s where you are.”

And wasn’t that a smug and wholly unsatisfying answer. Because she was a Wheelwalker? The only one to give him the time of day in a hundred some years? So North was just like any other Gray then: hungry for any reminder of life and the living, and she was  _ convenient _ . A space heater of mortality he could curl his ghoulish spirit around whenever he liked, because she’d been stupid enough to think--- Because she’d been stupid. She hated the way it cut into her, like a wound. Her body felt too tight beneath her skin, frustrated and hurt in a way she couldn’t understand. “Why are you  _ always  _ here?” she yelled into his face.

She knew his shock was genuine, even if she hadn’t been able to sense the certainty of it through his touch--that zing, like static, through her skin, not enough of a fully formed thought to pull her into his mind, not like a memory. He looked down, to where his hand still fit to the curve of her ankle, as if he’d forgotten what he’d done, surprised by his own boldness. He answered softly, without looking at her face; “It is not a thing a gentleman says out loud.”

She could hear her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. This was the kind of stupid ass shit that got people killed, junkies chasing their fix at any cost. She’d seen it dozens of times, and she’d sworn she’d never be so careless. Darlington was counting on her. But, worse than that, was that North had been  _ right _ : when she looked at him all her thoughts were overpowered by a desire so intense she thought it might consume her. 

“Then stop talking.”

North didn’t move at first. Like he’d been so used to hovering at her edges that to be so suddenly thrust into the fore had all but paralyzed him. Then he shifted and his fingers slid up the hourglass of her ankle to the cuff of her jeans. He traced the edge of it, almost absently. His other hand reached out, long, pianist fingers flexing just short of--testing the air between them, uncertain still if it would work, if wouldn’t just simply pass through (or into) her.

With painstaking care, he tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her shoulder, the backs of his knuckles brushing the sharp rise of her collarbone. The next touch came along the curve of her neck--lightly, so lightly. He didn’t linger there, sensing the hitch in her breath, remembering too, perhaps, the brutality so many had focused there. Instead, his fingers carded through her hair, his palm curving to the back of her head, and Alex had only a moment to marvel at how tender it felt, how no one had ever--and then he was kissing her.

His soul had been cold and coal smoke, coiled inside her--a viper asleep beside the rattler that lived in her chest. But his mouth was warm--sun-soaked and honey-smooth. With the barest tease of her tongue, his mouth opened, and she followed the pull of it, pushing up on her elbows to kiss him harder and forcing North to throw a hand out to brace himself.

Her skin was on fire. He’d barely touched her and she thought she’d burst for want of it. She shoved him back to pull her sweater over her head and toss it aside. And if she thought her brazenness would throw him, she was pleasantly surprised when he surged forward--the sudden expanse of bare skin drawing him onto the bed, onto her. He kissed her like a man dying of thirst; she gripped him like a hurricane.

He fumbled with the closure of her jeans, unfamiliar and swearing under his breath. Alex slapped his hands out of the way and did it herself, shoving her jeans down past her hips. North yanked them from there and Alex half-slid down the bed with the force of it. The curse came automatically to her lips, but evaporated in a moan when North crawled on top of her, his weight delicious and real as he settled over her hips. Her jeans were still tangled around her ankles and she struggled to free herself with a growl. North’s hand slid up her side and this time she did swear, back arching at the unexpected caress and finally succeeded in kicking off her jeans. She grabbed him by the hair and dragged him down for another bruising kiss.

“I can feel it--” he breathed, his mouth hot and gasping against hers. “The bed, you,  _ everything _ .”

“ _ How? _ ” North pulled back, his face was only inches from hers. “How is this possible?”

A Gray that was not only real and solid, but seemingly skirting the edge of life? It had never happened before; it shouldn’t be happening  _ now _ . Darlington might have known what she was, what she could  _ really _ do with these powers of hers--but all she knew was that her life had been complete shit lately, and it felt  _ good _ to feel good. 

Alex could feel the heat of his chest, how hard he was against her leg, and an almost hysterical giddiness bubbled up in her. She pressed  _ up _ with her leg, smirking at the shudder it drew from him. “Guess I’m just that good.”

North was still fully dressed. Alex clawed at his vest, and the material, ghostly or not, bunched and wrinkled under her fingers. “Do these even-- _ fuck, _ if you can’t--” He caught one of her wild hands, and brought it to his mouth--interrupting her desperate motions with a kiss to her palm, the line of her fingers as they curled.

“I’ve never had occasion to try,” he murmured against the inside of her wrist, teeth nipping at skin.

Alex hissed out through her teeth and pulled, the top button of his vest going flying--only to see it disappear before it could hit the ground. 

“You’d better be able to bring that back,” he growled, but neither of them had mind enough to care, or stop. 

His clothes came off in a rush under Alex’s rough-moving hands--blood-ruined jacket and all, baring skin and muscle and skin so bright and flushed Alex feared, if she let herself, she might press her ear to his chest and hear his heart beating anew. But then his hand was in her underwear, fingers curling in, and fucking hell was that the last thing on her mind.

“Stop talking or fuck me.”

“Not both?” He sounded smug, but they were both pulling her underwear down and she could feel his hands shaking under hers.  _ Fuck _ . 

“Don’t stop,” she ordered and hiked her legs up over his hips.

Maybe this would be what doomed her, cement the tether between her and North for good. And as soon as the thought occurred to her, she felt an iron certainty settle in her gut, and she knew: nothing Dawes might dig up could separate them now. Alex dug her heels into his back, urging him forward with a breathy curse that became a moan as he pushed into her.

She arched her back, throwing an arm over her eyes at the almost-forgotten pleasure. “Fucking,  _ hnngh _ , bad idea.” 

“Gonna take offense in a minute,” he muttered, and Alex let out a breathy laugh, peeking up at him from under the cover of her arm. The dark of his gaze met hers and there was a challenge in it.

North took hold of her hips, lifting her off the bed and Alex cried out. Fingernails digging into his shoulders, his back, she scrabbled for balance even as he lifted her again. Pulled her down again; white bursting behind her eyes. He’d challenged her, and who was she to back down from that? She got her feet under her, threw her hair back, and shifted the pace to her liking, to her control.

North’s fingers were digging bruises into her hips. She held him fast, held him down, and he clung to her as she rode him, her name falling from his beautiful lips, again and again. He pressed it to her skin, desperately kissing whatever part of her he could reach and Alex reveled in it. “Fuck, North,  _ fuck _ ,” she hissed, panting as her pleasure swelled. 

_ Let all become mid-ocean _ .

She could drift away, close her eyes and be swept under--but,  _ no _ \--North was  _ here _ , with her--his hands solid and bruising against her skin; all that strength he’d given up so easily. Given to her. Her Gray knight. 

_ Fuck _ , she thought, and then the wave of her orgasm swept over her, and she did not close her eyes. North’s hand was in her hair, pulling her down, slotting their mouths together, all teeth and feeling. Alex could feel it in her blood: something animal in her, waking up.

  
  


After, they lay side by side, the room pleasantly warm in the wake of their exertions. Alex could have drifted off just like that, heavy-limbed and tingling, but North had other ideas. Sprawled side-by-side it took some maneuvering, but then he was on his side, his fingers skating along her jaw from temple to chin.

“What just happened?” his voice was a mix of awe and not a small amount of worry. She snorted.

“Want me to draw you a picture?”

“ _ Alex… _ ”

That, more than anything, sobered her. She chewed her bottom lift, the soft press of his fingers a difficult temptation to resist. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“I--that is...the dead--” it was unusual to hear North struggling with words. “We aren’t supposed to corporealize. To  _ come back _ .”

At last, Alex turned her face to his. “I don’t care,” she whispered--and the words, though quietly uttered, fell heavy in the space between them.

North stared back. The white expanse of the pillow a desert of space between them, and yet, no distance at all. He was searching her face, and whatever he was looking for must have found because “okay,” was all he said. Even so, Alex felt a knot of tension in her gut unwind. 

Annoyed (and fond in equal measure), she shuffled closer, tucking her head under his chin and throwing a leg haphazardly over his. She didn’t look at his face, all her courage spent. “Go to sleep, North,” she commanded, gruffly.

North scoffed in that terribly endearing uptight way of his. But he pulled the sheet up around them all the same, his arm settling around her, warm and real. A kiss skated across her temple, fleeting and soft, and Alex fought the answering smile it caused, her cheek pressed to his chest.

_ “Okay.”  _

He whispered it into her hair. And, for the first time--in a long time, Alex fell into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from "YOU" by Morgan Saint -- an excellent Northern track.


End file.
